Brown – Blue

Brown like the ground underneath,
Maybe the spots like raindrops
Unstuck the files of its wings
So it could open the secrets
Of the skies and the seas.
Overlooked so easily,
It only catches the eye
When it dances in pairs,
Two otherworldly spots,
So bright they dim the edges
Of the cage and the street.
It’s a good thing its blue
Is airy enough to remind
Of the deep breath you lost
When you first saw your soul
Reflected in its mirrors.


A beautiful day, a beautiful year

The longest journeys start

With the same kind of step

As crossing the street.

You need the same letters

To write a whole trilogy

As a single sentence.

A lifetime is the longest measure

We would ever be allowed to know,

But it’s still just moments

Coming one after the other.

So at the strike of midnight,

When you plan your next year

And the hope of having it all

Breathtakingly beautiful

Sounds like a daunting task,

Remember that a year

Is just a collection of days

And resolve to just have

One beautiful day after another.

The most amazing person

‘The most amazing person’

Is the hardest and easiest title to gain.

There isn’t, and there never will be

A test broad enough to encompass

All the skills and talents and traits,

Compress them on the same hybrid scale

And compare one person with the next.

‘Amazing’ is, has been and will be

So fundamentally subjective

That the only way to decide it

Is looking through the speaker’s eyes.

So you may contradict me all you like

But my thinking you are amazing

Is the only condition necessary

For you to actually become.

It may be only to me – but it always

Has been supposed to be to me only,

That you are exactly that –

The most amazing person I have ever met.


She’s not a person you’d look at twice,
Were you to glimpse her going down the street.
It’s only her eyes that are dangerous,
And what happens when you strip her naked,
Letting the wild soul underneath breathe.
She’s fearless in only her skin,
The clothes a role too small for her to fit.
Her skin fits her not like a tailored suit,
Not something beautiful you’re afraid to spoil,
But like the things that grow with you
Until they become soft and comfortable,
That stretch to contain your curves
And toughen around your sharp edges.
She’s the kind of creature for whom
The clothes, the rules, the world,
Are an unwelcome constraint she can do without.
Anybody would, when they are so unnecessary.
She needs nothing other than herself –
She needs no weapons. She is a weapon,
Forged in the fire of a thousand suns.
She needs no cover. The universe is her cover,
Human eyes too feeble to perceive her.
She’s the kind of woman in whose arms you go
Looking for the meaning of God,
But remain for having found a goddess instead.
Don’t be fooled. Her hips are a beautiful lure,
The arms around you springing a hidden trap,
The lips honeyed only to hide the poison.
You can bleed to death cut on her sharp tongue,
And even worse on her sharper mind.
It’s a relief she’s this mythical creature
Only when her skin and soul are bare.
You’re safe if only you don’t look then
In the beautiful abyss of her hypnotic eyes.
So what are you waiting for? We both know
You can’t wait to see her naked soul.


There are so many people out there telling girls
That they should wipe the makeup off and be ‘natural’.
Almost as many as those who look me in the eye
And ask me why I don’t wear makeup more often.
But the thing is, you form impressions about people
Within seconds of first meeting them,
And I’ve seen people focus way too often
On the colour of the lip gloss when you wear it;
On the shade of the eyeshadow when you put it on –
They only realize there’s a smile underneath,
They only notice if the eyes crinkle at the corners
When you leave everything else bare
And don’t give their gaze any other hold.
I want to be that sincere, imperfect smile,
Rather than a gorgeous, ravishing mask.
I want to be a pretty… amazing person,
I want to be a beautiful…ly written story,
I want the alluring part about me to be my personality,
The delightful part, my conversations,
The dazzling part, my intelligence.
I would rather have people look at me in surprise
When I do take the time to put makeup on,
Than have them baffled when I take it off.
It’s a choice, and I’m aware mine is the odd one,
But if you don’t care to see the beauty of who I am,
It’s a waste of both of our times to get caught up
In painting an illusion on my face only.
So go and find your wide-eyed blushing maiden
While I leave my cheeks naked and make up my soul.

Joy in spilled juice

There are some days in life,
Precious and beautiful like jewels,
Not because you do anything,
But get to rediscover what joy feels like.
For me, i can just stay in bed,
The faint smell of jasmine
Coming through the open window,
And have you bring me breakfast,
A tray with a glass of juice,
Toast and a jar of strawberry jam.
You put on some jazz music,
And i joke that we’re too old
For this hour to be late enough for it.
You answer my jab at your tastes
By suddenly jumping on the bed.
It jostles me too much to adjust,
And I end up with juice all over me.
I pull the pyjamas over my head,
And that I can is beautiful in itself,
Just lying in front of you naked –
That I can do it without justification,
No jacuzzi party needed anymore
As an excuse to see me in a swimsuit,
No jewelry gift to see my lingerie,
No making eyes at somebody else
To keep me interested by jealousy.
You may freely enjoy my bared skin,
A touch that jumbles my thoughts
And makes me juggle the tray aside,
So I can trail kisses down your jawbone
And fingers down your backside
When we join together like jigsaw pieces,
In jagged times to match the background jazz.
There are some who find their joy in objects,
I’m glad I’m not one of them anymore
And I know that being here with you,
Just ourselves, free of judgement,
And with a half-spilled glass of juice
Makes today more precious than any jewel.


I saw a little boy building today,
Towers in spiralling, beautiful forms,
And rejoiced at the sneak-peek
Of tomorrow’s elegant skyline.
I saw a little girl painting today,
A world covered in flowers and sun,
And rejoiced at the assurance that
The towers will be dressed in gardens.
We know that it’s the silliest thing
To tell children that their worlds
Do not respect the rules of ours.
They will draw outside the lines,
And we let them do it in peace.
It’s a shame we forget, however,
To cut ourselves the same slack
And find forms that match our lines
Instead of cramming our colours
Within the stiff pre-existing shapes.
The world would be a better place
If we all closed our eyes to it,
And let ourselves imagine it anew.
If we imagined so hard we truly believed
That buildings are meant to be spirals
And curtains of flowers should adorn them.
We should believe in things that aren’t true
Or else how could they ever become?
Imagining other worlds is easy
The trick is to look at this world,
See it, feel it, understand it,
And imagine it as other, as better,
And all the ways to bring it there.